


Sartoria

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 5 Times Fic, Count and Countess Lecter, F/M, Florence Arc, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Therapy Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Five times Bedelia wore Hannibal's clothes.





	Sartoria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awayfromsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awayfromsight/gifts).



**Cutting out the fabric**

He spotted her from across the room, a flawless masterpiece among a blur of unremarkable faces. Great many faces too, now gathered around Bedelia Du Maurier, all eager to capture her attention.

It was an unexpected delight, having her attend the luncheon, prompting the attentiveness of other patrons, keen on exchanging a few words with the elusive Doctor Du Maurier. Not that any of the guests were worthy of her time, Hannibal Lecter observed the group from a distance, his lips twisting, ignoring the discussion about substance abuse disorders taking place around him. He should be glad to have her all to himself, even if an hour a week was hardly enough. Even if it was not how he wished for her to be his.

The boundaries she set were the reason he was reluctant to approach her now, but his eyes kept returning to her, like a siren call meant for him alone. She wore a sleeveless burgundy dress, matching the colour of her lipstick, perfectly complementing the brilliant blue of her eyes, captivating him even from afar. It made him think of flawless sapphires and he longed to gift her with a pair of earrings to match. He could tell from her expression that the conversation was not stimulating, as expected. Hannibal was devising the best approach to lure her away from the tedium when an opportunity had suddenly presented itself. Bedelia had excused herself from the company and was now heading towards the patio. Alone.

Discarding an empty champagne glass at the nearest surface, Hannibal followed her at once. The doors were barely closing behind her when he reached to open them again and stepped onto the paved terrace.

“Good afternoon, Hannibal,” Bedelia turned at once as though anticipating his arrival. No doubt she saw him watching her before; he would expect nothing less from such a perceptive mind.

“Doctor Du Maurier, what a pleasant surprise,” he said courteously, standing next to her, “We don’t normally get to enjoy your company here.”

“Yes, I thought I would see what I was missing,” she paused while looking back towards the dining room, “Not much.”

Hannibal chuckled; he always enjoyed her honesty as much as her brilliance.

“Anxiety disorders and vacationing in Barbados, the only topics on the monthly agenda.”

“Well, not all patients can be as interesting as you,” she nodded in his direction, a spark of amusement in her eyes.

Hannibal’s eyes lighted up as well, more than enjoying her rather playful tone. But his gaze narrowed almost immediately, noticing a slight shiver passing through her exposed skin. It would have escaped any normal person’s attention, but not Hannibal’s sensitivity to even the tiniest of changes. Without delay, he removed his jacket.

“What are you doing, Hannibal?” she stared at him, bewildered.

“You are cold, Doctor,” he proceeded to gently place the jacket over her shoulders.

“That is not necessary,” Bedelia insisted, but did not remove the cover, “Thank you.”

Hannibal was certain he saw a ghost of a smile passing through her lips as she pulled the jacket more tightly around her, undeniably enjoying the fabric warmed by his body heat.

“I do not want _you_ to be cold because of me,” she said, almost timidly, and glanced at Hannibal curiously; he was now wearing only a shirt and a vest.

“I am fine, Doctor,” he reassured her, carefully studying the view presented in front of him.

Bedelia turned her attention to the garden stretching in front of them, perhaps self-conscious of her reaction. Hannibal knew she did not normally let gallant gestures sway her. He found himself entirely distracted by the sight of her.

Her petite figure disappeared under the cover of his jacket, enfolding her completely and Hannibal was struck by her delicate build. He imagined his own embrace enveloping her instead; not an instinct he was familiar with before, but now he could not stop it from taking hold of his mind. Or rather his _heart_.

“I should be going back,” Bedelia spoke after a moment, an evident regret in her voice, “Since I came, I should try to _enjoy_ the afternoon.”

Her words brought Hannibal back from his daze and he watched, disappointed, as she took off his jacket.

“Again, thank you,” she handed it back to him and Hannibal fought an impulse to tell her to keep it.

He wished for her to have a piece of him, providing her with heat, until he was able to keep her warm in his arms. Reluctantly, he took the jacket from her outstretched hand.

“I will see at our next session, Hannibal,” she smiled at him and stepped back inside.

He watched as the door closed behind her, still clutching the jacket. Bringing it closer to his face, he inhaled deeply, looking to detect notes of her perfume on the fabric, hoping to distinguish notes of _her_ underneath it. He yearned for the moment when he will be able to enwrap himself in her completely.

 

**Assembling the pieces**

“I thought we are travelling _light_.”

Bedelia chose her words with care, watching as Hannibal browsed through the wardrobe of his seaside home, obviously smaller than his usual collection of clothes, but nonetheless impressive and immaculate.

They had arrived here mere hours ago; an empty house on the edge of the cliff, perfectly equipped, away from the prying eyes of curious neighbours. Ideal for Hannibal’s _extra curriculum activities_ , Bedelia considered the space as he showed her in. For all that, it felt like a dream still, one she expected to wake up from any minute now. And she secretly hoped she wouldn’t, a thought she did not want to admit to having, even to herself.

“Yes, we are,” Hannibal turned around with a smile, one of many gracing his face since she agreed to accompany him. She noticed a single pyjama top in his hands, navy blue, folded neatly.

“I thought you would like to rest before we leave for the airport,” he extended the shirt in her direction.

Bedelia’s eyes scrutinized the offering, her mind searching for any hidden meaning behind the gesture. Yet it was nothing but a simple statement. She regarded his face closely; since she found him in her bedroom, bare in body and soul, she expected his veil to quietly restore itself and leave her abandoned on the other side.

It did not. It was strange seeing him this way, raw and fragile. They were two sole explorers to an unknown land. A strange and _enthralling_ land _._

“Thank you,” she took the top, fingers grazing over smooth cotton, “What about you?” she added, unsure what to do next.

“I have last arrangements to make, before we depart,” a brief answer she was grateful for.

She did not ask for more information; it would be better for her alibi, in case they got caught in the airport. But she hoped they _wouldn’t_.

“Just minor details,” Hannibal added as if sensing her unease, “You should try to get some sleep.”

His constant concern for her well-being was still surprising to her, but not unwelcomed. Bedelia nodded and made her way to the bathroom.

She carefully closed the door behind her, as the lights came on, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The caution was unnecessary, surely; after all, she let him into her own bed earlier that same day. The sensation of his lips and fingers persisted on her skin, vivid and searing. She had not realised how much she missed his touch. How much she missed _him_.

But this was _different_. She stared at the shirt placed on the counter, like a foreign object she was unfamiliar with. _His shirt_. Bedelia had always avoided any gestures inviting intimacy and wearing her lovers’ clothes was one of them. At least the top was freshly pressed, she told herself as the reassuring smell of fabric detergent drifted into her nostrils, stubbornly ignoring the fact that his scent continued to pleasantly linger on her skin.

With a deep inhale, she took off her clothes and reached for the top, unbuttoning it swiftly. Yet she slipped it on slowly, soft material caressing her skin, and buttoned it up with care. Only when she finished adjusting the last button, she glimpsed at herself in the mirror again. The sleeves run past her wrists and the shirt reached all the way down to her thighs. She felt engulfed, and not just by the fabric. As if she had just cast off the last remnant of her former life and it was laying in shreds with her discarded clothes.

She gave herself a final, appraising stare. The shirt was comfortable and suited her in a way. How peculiar.

When she left the bathroom, Hannibal was already gone. She knew he would return shortly, but she was somehow disappointed as she laid down on the bed alone.

 

**The fitting**

Hannibal was not pleased with this unforeseen disruption in the artefact delivery, but he was the curator nevertheless.

“It is a minor inconvenience, but I would rather oversee it myself,” he explained for the third time as he finished packing his overnight suitcase, placing his toiletry bag on top and fasting the straps.

It was so unlike him, being apologetic, especially for something so insignificant as one night away. But then again, he had never shared his life with anyone before.

He looked up at Bedelia, standing by her vanity, silently observing his undertakings. Her face remained inscrutable, unreadable to any other person, but Hannibal saw the corner of her mouth curling up briefly when she heard him repeat the same words.

“I will be fine, Hannibal,” she commented on the unuttered sentiment behind his justification, stepping closer to straighten the twisted strap of his suitcase which escaped his notice.

Being alone most of his life, now Hannibal found himself surprisingly reluctant to leave his companion. The source of his hesitation remained unknown to him, impressions in his heart still searching for their name.

He was not worried about Bedelia’s loyalty. If she wanted to leave him, she had amp opportunities to do so. But she was still here. And so was he.

“I will be back tomorrow evening,” he placed the closed suitcase on the floor and met her eyes once more.

“Have a safe journey,” she responded in her usual reserved manner, but Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat when she unexpectedly cradled his face and placed a kiss on his cheek.

The train journey to Milan felt longer than it should and even the breathtaking beauty of its cathedral did not lessen Hannibal’s displeasure. The shipping error had been promptly resolved, undeniably due to Hannibal’s presence and strict demeanour. His mood had brightened slightly upon purchasing a dress for Bedelia, one in deep scarlet tone that will complement her sun-kissed complexion and the upcoming autumnal hues of the city.

He put Milan behind him as soon as he could, taking an earlier train and arriving in Florence around midday. A certain calm washed over him as he stood in front of the familiar door of their apartment, turning the key with practised ease. The place was quiet and appeared empty, perhaps Bedelia was taking advantage of the last days of summer, strolling down sunlit piazzas. Stepping into the living room, he set down his suitcase on the floor without further regard and made his way to the bedroom, eager to place the new dress in Bedelia’s wardrobe.

But he stopped in an instant upon reaching the threshold. The room was not empty. He stared unmoving at the vision transpiring in front of him. Bedelia was curled up in the middle on the bed, having dozed off, her head resting gently on a pillow, a half-closed book by her side. Her legs bare, she wore only a sweater. _His sweater_.

Hannibal’s eyes widen in wonder. He had never known Bedelia to take his clothes. Was she cold or did she _miss_ him? There was no point to ponder over the question, he decided, as the sight itself took over his mind. He smiled, continuing to commit the details of the scene to his memory.

Bedelia appeared even more petite than usual, alone on the vast space of their bed, submerged in the threads of the sweater. Hannibal was almost startled when she moved, not wanting this moment to end prematurely, but she merely stretched her legs further. She looked so peaceful and comfortable, and Hannibal could not imagine a more perfect picture.

Still gazing at her softly, he removed his shoes and walked into the room, taking unnecessary caution to make his steps even more silent that they already were. He hung the dress on the chair of her vanity and approached the bed, gently removing the book from her hand and putting it aside. He then sat on the bed, careful not to shift the mattress too abruptly, and lied down next to Bedelia. She remained undisturbed, sleeping soundly.

His hand rested on her shoulder and he stroke it tenderly through the wool. It was curious, touching the fabric he knew so well with a fresh purpose. Something he had never considered before, like so many things he experienced with Bedelia.

He slid his hand around her waist, bringing her closer to him. She stirred, and Hannibal held his breath, afraid he had awakened her, but she pressed her back against his chest instead.

A relieved and delighted exhale left his mouth and he placed a kiss on her temple, before burying his nose in her locks. The puzzling feelings in his heart were finally falling into place as he wrapped his arm tighter around Bedelia. He knew why he was eager to return here. He was home.

 

**Alterations**

“I can’t believe you kept my clothes.”

Hannibal’s voice brimmed with emotion as he inspected the shirt and trousers Bedelia had laid out for him on the bed.

“Well, they were still here and I-” _couldn’t bring myself to dispose of them,_ ” did not get a chance to clear the closet.”

She knew how unconvincing the excuse sounded; it had been _3 years_.

Hannibal moved slowly, mindful of the fresh stitches, hand resting gently on the bandages. Bedelia observed him cautiously from the armchair in the corner of the room. She ignored the sharp twinge that pierced her heart at the sight of his thin and bruised body.

“I hope you put them to good use,” he unfolded the shirt.

Bedelia remained silent.

“They always looked better on you anyway,” a playful grin appeared on his lips, one she had not anticipated to ever see again, and her chest tightened even more as old sentiments were awaken with force.

“Did I?” she replied curtly despite her best attempts not to be drawn into the conversation. She had spent years trying to put the recollections behind her.

“You did,” Hannibal’s smile turned wistful as he reached into the well-known rooms of his memory palace.

“Yet you were not fond of anyone else wearing your clothes,” she watched as he started to unbutton the shirt.

“Yes,” he admitted with unusual honesty,” Until I saw you wearing my shirt,” his hands paused, and he looked at her once more, the nostalgia in his gaze turning to lustful yearning.

Bedelia pulled her lips tighter, concealing an involuntary smile. It was startling, how easily he roused these feelings within her.

“Your shirts were always folded neatly, but then you started leaving them lying around carelessly,” she no longer could stop the memories from pouring, smoothly bypassing the wall of indifference she tried to build in her mind to keep the past away.

“I did that on purpose. I was hoping you would wear it.”

“I knew that. And I did,” now she couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on her lips.

Hannibal responded with a bright smile of his own, making him look like his old self again and they both felt silent, lost in the echoes reverberating in the space between. He proceeded to undo the last buttons, but stopped abruptly, his head tilted to the side with keen interest, as though he had spotted something on the fabric. Or smelled something.

Bedelia’s expression turned wary, her eyes wide with sudden alert. It was not possible for him to detect that, it had been _years_.

She had worn this shirt, only once, during one of her many sleepless nights. Desperation and exhaustion drew her to the deepest shelf in her closet as she attempted to wrap herself in lost moments on joy and pleasure and trick her mind into resting. But it was all for nought; she welcomed the next day having barely slept, still clutching the fabric tightly, her eyes red from all the tears she had been denying herself for so long.

The shirt had been put away immediately, Bedelia shoved it back with anger, chastising herself for such emotional self-indulgence which lead to nothing. She tried to forget about it all, the night, the shirt, as she tried to forget about him.

The scent of her could not have lingered for so long. But she knew Hannibal Lecter’s senses were not like everyone else’s. She continued to watch him through narrowing eyes as he examined the shirt, fingers stroking the cotton with uncommon attentiveness. He looked up at her and she held her breath, ready to deny whatever conclusions he came to, but he merely stared at her, his gaze tender, without uttering a word.

As he finally put on the shirt, his movements still guarded, Bedelia attempted to breath normally, but it felt like all air had been drained from the room.

“I will let you get dress,” she stood up, averting her eyes, and turned towards the door.

“No,” the word halted her steps, “Please _stay_.”

The tone of his voice gave an impression that he meant more than just this space. Or perhaps that was only what she wanted to hear. She was suddenly angry at herself for allowing her heart to take over her reason as if it had learned nothing. Her eyes were burning as she smothered the tears, but she did not move. She almost gasped when she sensed him standing behind her, his steps as imperceptible as before, despite his injuries. As his arm wrapped slowly around her waist, her body tensed, but she did not push his hand away.

“I missed you,” he whispered quietly, but she said nothing, still taut. The other arm joined the first, encasing her in his embrace. Bedelia held her tongue and her emotions at bay. She felt his breath tingling on her skin as he brought his mouth next to her ear.

“ _I am sorry, Bedelia_.”

Her hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt as she pressed her fingers into his arm. She let out her breath, together with the tension in her body, slowly sinking into his embrace. Her silent admission that she missed him too.

 

**The final fit**

Hannibal woke up with a start, an abnormal occurrence since his nights were now untroubled and tranquil. Keeping his eyes closed, he examined the circumstance and the reason behind his awakening made itself present at once; his arms were empty.

Immediately, he reached out to the side to gather Bedelia back in his embrace, but his hands found nothing but cool sheets. His eyes now opened with alertness and he surveyed his surroundings. The rising day threw lines of pale gold across the floor, not yet reaching the edge of the bed. It was so unlike her to be up this early. His gaze swept the empty room, noticing her robe still hanging on the chair, where she left it every night. Even more atypical.

Hannibal closed his eyes in an attempt to reclaim his sleep, but the absence of Bedelia prevented his mind from resting. He got up and wrapped his own robe around his naked body before heading downstairs. His eyes moved swiftly in tandem with his steps, as he glanced into the rooms he passed.

He finally found her in the sitting room, where the early dawn was shining more brightly, dazzling streams of light spilling through the tall windows and encircling the figure in the middle of the room. He stood in silence, staring with palpable lust.

As beautiful as the morning sun was, it could not compare to the golden strands of Bedelia’s hair, appearing even more radiant in the halo of the daybreak. The light followed the line of her body, clad in nothing but his shirt. She was standing in front of an easel, her foot hooked playfully behind the other heel, as she studied the composition of the painting.

“Good morning,” she turned her head and gave him a brief smile, which made the scene even more alluring and a swelling pulse of his heart caught in Hannibal’s throat.

“Good morning,” he finally found his voice and approached her slowly, “You are up very early.”

“I wanted to take advantage of this light,” she responded as he stopped by her side. He looked at the painting and the colours of the sky coming alive under her fingers.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal gave her his best look of being unreasonably abandoned.

“I am sorry,” she turned her attention back to the canvas, ignoring his expression, but supressing a grin of amusement.

She took a brush and returned to the painting, surveying the changing light, as Hannibal’s gaze continued to explore her in turn.

Only a few buttons of the shirt were fastened, and he glared at the lush mounds of her breasts peering temptingly through the opening. He had never known white cotton could be so _attractive_.

“Are you looking to get your shirt back?” she commented, sensing his continuous stare.

“I am looking to get my wife back,” he retorted, beaming at her, “Back in bed.”

The brush paused, and she turned her head, giving him a reprimanding stare, one he knew so well, but it was now laced with affection which played about her smiling lips.

“I am almost done,” she resumed her task.

The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, but they keep falling down her slender arms as she worked, which Hannibal found utterly endearing. His hands were almost aching with want to gather her in his arms and carry her away. But he knew she would not approve of that, so he simply remained standing by her side.

The restrain did not last long as his fingers had a mind of their own and soon they made their way to the rest on her hips. Bedelia said nothing and his hands grew encouraged to explore further. He slowly traced the lines of her body through the fabric, searching for the treasure of her curves, sunken under waves of cotton. One hand rested on her stomach while the other advanced to cup her breast, his thumb softly caressing the nipple, and he smiled as it hardened under his touch. With a fresh bravado, he moved the collar of the shirt and his mouth met the exposed skin, nibbling gently.

This time Bedelia sighed and leaned into the caress.

“You are incorrigible, Hannibal,” she gave him another reproving look, but placed the brushes aside.

He grinned widely, pleased that his distraction had worked and enjoying her words as a best compliment.

Bedelia tilted her head, staring at his smug face but took a step closer and let her arms encircle his neck, which was all the permission Hannibal needed. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her at once, but his satisfaction turned into a delighted gasp as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

This time, she smiled; Hannibal loved it when she had the last word. He stood in the same spot, enjoying the weight of her in his arms.

“I thought we were going to bed,” she remarked when he hadn’t moved.

The note was infused with a slight tone of command which was enough to arouse him instantly.

“Yes, we are,” he nodded his head subserviently and they left the room.

There was no rush and each of his steps was intertwined with kisses.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” she uttered between the sighs as his lips continued to caress her neck while he carried her up the stairs.

“ _Never_ ,” he whispered solemnly, holding her firmly as they moved down the hallway.

Having reached the desired destination, he placed her on their bed with utmost delicacy, keeping his promise. But Bedelia’s arms and legs continued to enfold him, her embrace tightening, as she kissed him deeply.

She will never let go of him either.

**Author's Note:**

> For Lena, who asked for a story about Bedelia taking/wearing Hannibal's clothes. This took forever, I hope it was worth the wait. ♥  
> My first ever attempt at 5 times fic, with alternating POVs, because I love symmetry and overthinking things.  
> Sartoria is Italian for tailoring/dressmaking.
> 
> Hard to believe, but this is my 80th post here. Feedback is love (and so is champagne).


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